


Rearranged

by larkscape



Series: VLD Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Captivity, Double Anal Penetration, Gangbang, Handcuffs, Hurt No Comfort, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: Shiro winces when the sharp edge of the cuff bites in again. It's a continuous sting just past his wrist bone as the Galra captain pinning him shoves his hands further up the wall.Focusing on that minor pain is a hell of a lot better than the alternative.Shiro is the Champion, which only means they try even harder to break him.





	Rearranged

**Author's Note:**

> me: i love you, shiro  
> also me: shiro, baby, look at all these bad men who want to do bad things to you. i should… let them.
> 
> Kinktober 2018: Day 29 - Double (or more) penetration. Set during Shiro's first stint in Galra captivity.

 

The shackles are too loose.

That sounds completely counterintuitive, but despite there being no way Shiro can slip out of them, they’re still loose enough that they move on his wrists with every thrust and cut into his flesh. The metal of the new prosthetic doesn’t care (and it’s deactivated by the cuffs, of course; the Galra aren’t stupid enough to let him have a weapon outside of the arena), but the skin on his human arm suffers.

He winces when the sharp edge bites in again. It's a continuous sting just past his wrist bone as the Galra captain pinning him shoves his hands further up the wall.

Focusing on that minor pain is a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

“Still feeling stubborn, Champion?”

The captain’s voice is a nasty hiss in his ear, and Shiro can’t tamp down on his instinctive thrashing, weak though it is. He has to _get away._ Doesn’t matter where, just out from under the captain and out of this room and maybe out of his body entirely. That’d be nice. Far away from the eager purple faces around him.

But whatever Sendak injected him with this time has sucked all the fight out of his muscles, and the brief show of defiance only makes the punishing grip on his bare waist that much tighter.

“You’ll learn your place soon enough. Save your strength for the arena, where it might actually do you some good.” A rough tongue scrapes up the back of Shiro’s neck, hot breath and a brush of fangs. Casual threat. Shiro tries to flinch away, but the captain just shoves him tighter to the wall and rocks his hips again. “Got to admit, though, I’ll miss these evenings when your fight finally burns out. Maybe Haggar will let us have you anyway.”

God, this can't be—

But it _is_ happening. Again. There's no escape. The captain’s legs force his knees wide, keep him unbalanced and open.

 _I hope Haggar straps you to her table and vivisects you,_ Shiro growls in his head. He knows better than to say it out loud, and he isn’t sure he could form the words right now anyway. His mouth, his whole body, feels hazy with the drug. Gooey and limp and useless.

Claws tighten on his hip, just shy of breaking the skin, as the captain resumes a lazy rhythm of thrusts, and the ridged cock spearing him open is impossible to ignore. He wishes, faintly, hopelessly, that the captain would just get it _over with_ already and let him be done. Let him go back to his cell where he can ride out the haziness in some miserable approximation of peace. But here he remains: trapped, invaded, violated, inescapably _present._

His skin buzzes with an uncomfortable tingle. The cuffs bite into his wrists. The captain’s hips roll and the ridges on his cock trip painfully across Shiro’s rim one-two-three.

“Hurry up, Zeklev,” one of the other Galra officers says. “Some of us are getting tired of waiting.”

The captain — Zeklev — pauses inside Shiro and says, “He’s got a mouth, too, you know.” Shiro can't decide if knowing his name makes this better or worse.

“Which is useless when you’ve got him up against the wall like that."

“Yeah, bring him over to the table so the rest of us can make use of him. We don’t have all night.”

Worse, he thinks. Names make it more real.

The captain ignores them all for another few thrusts, forcing his way in, stretching, _burning,_ his cock too long, too textured, scraping too deep. Then, abruptly, he wrenches Shiro’s arms apart, splitting and reattaching the cuffs behind his back too quick for Shiro to even think about fighting (not that he could, god, all this muscle built up by their arena and for what, it's useless, he can’t— even when he isn't drugged, the Galra are too strong, and now—)

He walks Shiro easily, still impaled on cock, over to the table. Pushes him down face-first onto the cold metal.

Shiro has just enough strength to twist his head so his nose isn't smashed against the table, and then the captain shoves his bound hands into his low back and drives in even deeper. The new angle means that those ridges are dragging right over his prostate and he realizes with a sort of detached, resigned horror that he's getting hard. And now there’s another Galra cock right in front of his face.

Zeklev — no, Shiro doesn't want to know his name, doesn't want anything that might tie him to this sick creature, this— _fuck—_ god, he doesn't even care what he’s doing to Shiro, does he? This isn't some method to break him, not in _his_ eyes. Shiro is just a warm hole to him. An hour's diversion.

Shiro’s breath hitches.

At least Sendak had a purpose to his cruelty.

 _The captain_ is picking up speed.

“Suck,” the owner of the new cock says roughly. “Bite it and I bite _you.”_

“That’s not much of a threat,” says another officer, chuckling. “You’ve seen him in the ring; he’d probably like it.”

“Bite it and I _rip your throat open_ and fuck the hole as you bleed out. How’s that, Kryt?”

They’re not going to kill him. Haggar wouldn’t be pleased, and none of them want to get on her bad side. But he knows just how close he can get, too, how close to death is considered acceptable in Galra calculations. He’s lost count of how many times he’s thought, _this is it, I’m not surviving this,_ only to wake up some unknown time later strapped to a table and looking up at Haggar’s dispassionate face.

So no, they won’t kill him, but they can make him wish they had.

He hates them all. Hates himself, too, for not finding a way out of this.

The Galra officer digs fingers into Shiro’s face, forces his jaw wide. Shiro doesn’t have the strength left to turn away, and then the new cock is pushing in and he has to feel those ridges on his tongue, too, pumping past his lips. The tip jabs his throat, makes it spasm weakly. Again, and again.

Somewhere in the haze of cocks shoving into him and the tears spilling from his eyes as he struggles to breathe and the helpless, choked noises climbing from his mouth, he feels something wet and warm leaking down his thigh and— oh. The captain finished. He pulled out already. Shiro thinks, nonsensically, _didn’t anyone teach you to clean up after yourself?_ but then another Galra is pushing in — not even any resistance this time, he’s all fucked open, loose from the drug, slick with the captain’s come — and he tries to stop thinking altogether. Tries to let the fight for breath drown out the rest of reality.

It doesn’t work. He still feels it when the new Galra fucks into his ass, the force of it shoving him further onto the cock in his mouth. Feels every ridge, deep, _too_ deep, god, he can never forget that they’re not human—

Another one steps up, grabs his leg.

“Think he can take two at once?”

No, no, _please—_

“Only one way to find out. Finish up, Moloz, we’re gonna move him.”

The thing is, Shiro used to like that. Back on Earth. The stretch, the burn, the power in taking that much into himself — but god, not like this.

And his skin is still tingling and those ridges are still hitting the right places even if it’s for all the wrong reasons and Shiro hates his body right now but there’s no denying that he’s hard on this stupid metal table, stretched out and cuffed and spitted between two alien cocks with a third awaiting entrance.

He doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want _any_ of this.

The Galra currently fucking his throat — Moloz, and no, he doesn’t want _his_ name either, but a name is an advantage in this place and he should really remember that; any knowledge at all is better than the bewildered nothing he started with — Moloz grunts and shoves his cock deeper into Shiro’s mouth, grabs his ears in clawed hands and yanks him further in. Spasms on his tongue and comes in hot, sticky bursts. It’s halfway down his throat already and Shiro has no choice but to try to swallow it, bouncing as the Galra behind him keeps pace.

“All yours,” groans Moloz, pulling back. Shiro gasps for breath. He’s got spit and come smeared all over his mouth and he can’t even wipe it off.

This is the worst time for his inherent neatness to reassert itself. There is no dignity on a prison ship.

“How do you think…”

“Pick him up; we can do it standing.”

“Not on the table?”

“Do _you_ want to be under him?”

“Sondux, you’re an idiot. He’s cuffed and drugged to the eyeballs, he’s not getting claws on you. I just don’t want to hold him up for that long.”

“So flip him over and then we can fold him in half and both be on top.”

They’re talking about him like he’s a tricky piece of furniture. Shiro shudders, his knees wobbly, hating the way his own cock drools on the tabletop. Not-Sondux is still thrusting in his ass, absently, like he stands around with his cock buried in prisoners all the time.

Hell, he probably does. That’s not a nice thought.

Shiro wishes this drug was the floaty variety, the type that would let him escape into his own head for a while. Reality isn't that kind. His body is weak as a newborn kitten's, nearly unresponsive, but his mind is still awfully, terribly clear. He feels every ridge as the cock inside him pulls out, but can only groan when rough hands reposition him on his back. His shackled arms are trapped under him, bending his spine, forcing his shoulders into a painful angle.

They push his legs up, up, _up_ until his knees are by his ears, thighs spread wide in the cool air, ass still leaking come. All his weight is up on his shoulder blades. He wants it to _stop._

One of them, the one who was just fucking him, climbs onto the table over him. Not-Sondux, shit, what is his name— no, Shiro doesn’t want his name, but— he’s flexible. His spread legs pin Shiro’s thighs down to his chest, holding him open as that awful cock drills back in at a new angle. He’s so _big,_ they’re all so big— Shiro is not a small man, but the Galra are broader, taller; they can just move him like a doll. Rearrange him as they please.

Cut off his arm, make him fight, drug him and fuck him and graft new parts on like they own him. Fuck.

The other one moves closer. Shiro can feel hands cupping his ass somewhere past the first one’s legs, can feel lightly furred skin brushing over him.

There’s another cock at his hole.

It pushes, pushes — no, nono, the drug has made his muscles loose but not loose enough for _this,_ god, he’s going to tear something without prep, he’s—

Shiro shouts as the head forces its way in.

“Ooh,” says the second Galra, shoving deeper. “That’s a nice noise. And he’s all tight, too, _damn_ that feels good.”

“Shut up, Sondux. I don’t want to hear your voice when I’m fucking him.”

“Too bad they’re gonna put him back in the ring. He was fucking _made_ to take cock. Come on, Vruk, I wanna find out what he feels like when he’s getting pounded by both of us.”

They start to move.

Shiro hates it, he _hates_ it, the rage and pain is burning him up from the inside, but he’s ashamed, too, because the way they’re filling him is so— they’re stretching him so tight, so full, and those fucking ridges are slamming over all the sensitive spots inside him and it _hurts_ but he’s so goddamn hard and he just wants— he just wants to come. It makes him feel used and dirty and wrong, _awful,_ but. He wants them to make him come.

The one on top, Vruk, thrusts into him hard and fast, and there’s a cock shoved tight against his prostate, and everything is fire and misery and a need so dark it makes him choke. He wants—

_“Ple—eease.”_

Slurred, broken, desperate, the word choppy and deformed on his drug-weakened tongue. He wants them to stop, he wants them to finish so it’ll be over, he wants to feel more alien come inside him all wet and sloppy and he’s fucking getting off on it, he’s _sick,_ he _doesn’t want this—_

“Please, fuuhck, _pl—aah—”_

“Is he begging?” Sondux sounds delighted.

Vruk fucks into him deep and then he groans and Shiro can feel the hot flood of his come and it’s _foul_ and he _likes it._

With a satisfied noise, Vruk slumps over him, and the change in position rubs Shiro’s leaking cock on his stomach and—

oh god—

he comes. On himself, on Vruk’s uniform, while he’s cuffed and folded in half on a table with two alien cocks stuffed in his ass. He hates himself.

Sondux keeps going for another few thrusts, but then he hits his peak, shoving deep and grinding. Shiro is absolutely flooded with come. It drips out of him around their cocks.

He's flooded with shame, too. Tears leak from his eyes, and they’re not all from the pain. He feels wrung out, filthy; he still can’t move his limbs, but his mind is racing past the fog of endorphins and there’s a feeling like a sob building in his chest.

Sondux pulls out. Vruk follows suit, climbing down from on top of him.

“Good work, Champion,” Sondux says, slapping the back of Shiro’s thigh. Like a winning racehorse. Shiro feels sick. “I look forward to next time.”

Already there's another Galra officer stepping up and shoving his cock inside, and Shiro can only let him, can only take it. He makes a thin noise. He wants to snap his teeth at them all, wants to rend them with his bare hands, but he can’t even put his legs down.

They… they made him like it. Made him come. Somehow that’s the worst violation yet.

 


End file.
